Voice soaring, Rukanis brought the piece to an end. Tears dried, the glamour turned and blew him a kiss. Then she vaporised, her essence sinking as fine silver rain towards the stage, but never reaching it. Rukanis bowed.

For the span of a heartbeat, there was complete silence.

Then the audience roared. They clapped and cheered, and leapt to their feet in tribute – energetically in the stalls, with restraint in the balconies and boxes.

Several shy little girls, daughters of the worthy, appeared from the wings with bouquets. Real bouquets, not glamours. It was more of a compliment, according to current fashion in the perverse world of culture. He took the flowers, kissed the girls’ cheeks and acknowledged the deafening adulation. Grinning, giving small bows, he clutched the masses of flowers to his ample chest.

To an upsurge of applause, he slowly backed away from the edge of the stage. The curtains swept in and concealed him. As was well known, he didn’t do curtain calls, no matter how insistent the demands or the calibre of the audience. He puffed his cheeks and expelled a relieved breath.

No sooner had the curtains drawn than a small mob of colleagues and backstage workers moved in to congratulate him. They slapped his back, pumped his hand, showered him with praise, and he took it with good grace.

He passed the flowers to someone, gratefully, then thanked them all and headed for his dressing room. Somebody handed him a towel. He accepted with a smile and dabbed at his sweating brow.

A stagehand he passed called out, ‘You’ve a visitor in your dressing room, sir.’

‘Any idea who it is?’

‘A man. It was the name you left at the stage door, I think. Geheim, was it?’

‘Ah, yes. Thank you.’

Geheim. The standard name they were using at the moment. He hoped that in coming here the man had been careful he wasn’t followed. Rukanis dismissed the thought. They were experienced at this kind of thing and knew what they were doing.

When he entered his dressing room he found someone he’d never seen before. He was young and robust looking, clean-shaven but with an unruly mop of blond hair.

‘Geheim, I presume,’ Rukanis said.

The stranger smiled. ‘For our purposes, yes.’ They clasped hands. ‘That was one hell of a performance.’

‘Thank you.’ Rukanis locked the door. ‘You were in the audience?’

The man was still smiling. ‘Hardly. I heard some of it from back here.’

‘Of course.’

Geheim glanced around. ‘I take it this room’s safe?’

Rukanis fished an anti-glamour pendant from inside his shirt.

‘Good. But you shouldn’t warrant eavesdropping, should you? A man like you must be above suspicion.’

‘I’m not sure anybody’s exempt from suspicion these days.’

‘Indeed. We appreciate how risky this is for you.’

‘I’m prepared to do what I can for the cause, short of violence. Do you mind if I change?’

‘Go ahead.’

Rukanis began riffling through a rack of clothes. ‘What do you need from me?’

‘Two things, if possible. First, the usual.’

‘Message carrying.’

‘Yes. We’ll need several delivered to our people in Gath Tampoor. I’ll arrange to get them to you before you leave. Is that all right?’

‘It’s not a problem. And second?’

‘The reception tomorrow night. There are going to be lots of important people there -’

‘And you want me to keep my ears open.’

‘It’s surprising what they can come out with when they think they’re among their own. But there’s something in particular we’d like you to listen for this time. Have you heard anything about some sort of Bhealfan trading expedition to the northern wastes?’

‘No.’ He was pulling on a fresh shirt.

‘We’ve had whispers. But there’s something not quite right about it. Seems like it’s more an empire mission than Bhealfan, and we’d like to know why.’

‘I’ll be alert for it. Though I wish I could do something a bit more substantial.’

‘Don’t underestimate the value of intelligence gathering. The Resistance is grateful for what you do, believe me. Not least the money you give. As to anything else… Well, your pacifism’s well known and respected, but it does tend to limit the kind of operations we can involve you in.’

‘I understand.’

‘One last thing; your contact point here in Valdarr. Directly opposite the northern corner of Tranquillity Square there’s a street… well, not much more than an alley really, called Falcon’s Way. There’s a leather tannery near the far end.’ He smiled again. ‘Ask for Geheim. Have you got all that?’

‘Yes. I don’t expect to need it.’

‘I hope you never do. But remember it’s a safe house as well as a drop point. It’s as well to cover all contingencies.’

Rukanis nodded.

‘I have to go,’ Geheim announced.

‘And I’ll take a short walk, I think. I always like some air after a performance.’ He wrapped a cape around his shoulders and selected a wide-brimmed hat from his assortment.

They left the theatre together.

Outside the stadium the streets were busy. They stood for a moment watching the flow.

Rukanis breathed deeply. ‘Aaah. It’s a nice evening. I’m for wandering down to the harbour.’

‘Take care. And don’t forget about the safe house. You’re clear on that?’

‘Perfectly.’

They said their goodbyes and parted.

Rukanis rather liked this Geheim. It would be interesting to know more about him. But of course that was impossible.

Even dressed in ordinary street clothes Rukanis would be easily recognised by some of the passers-by. He pulled down the brim of his hat and headed for the harbour.

There were many ships anchored, and a lot of activity, despite the lateness of the hour. He strolled along the moorings, savouring the air and the solitude. After a few minutes he stopped just short of a bridge that spanned a narrow part of the inlet. Leaning on a wall, he looked out at the vessels coming and going, and the distant gleam of navigation lights.

But he only half saw the view. His mind was on the direction his life was taking. On how he was getting in deeper with the insurgents, and how much further he might feel compelled to go with them.

He heard a scream. Or thought he did. Could it have been his imagination? A gull, perhaps? He listened for a few seconds, shrugged and slid back into his reverie.

Another scream, nearer and unmistakable this time.

Rukanis looked around, trying to see its source. His eye was caught by movement on the bridge. At least one figure was running over it, coming his way. Perhaps a hundred paces behind it a number of pursuers were visible. He couldn’t make things out too clearly in the poor light. Concerned, he began walking towards the bridge.

He got to its entrance as a woman rushed off. She was tall, raven-haired, and she carried a child under one arm, like a parcel. Another, older youngster clutched her hand. They looked terrified. Faced by him, they stopped, breathless and fearful, the children tear-stained.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

The woman stared at him, then seemed to make a decision. ‘Help us,’ she breathed, and there was true desperation in her voice.

He looked along the bridge. Four men were dashing across it. They were near enough for him to make out their uniforms. Two harbour watch, a militiaman and, alarmingly, a paladin. Further behind them, at the bridge’s opposite end, a bigger group followed.

‘Come on,’ he said, scooping up the second child, who was too frightened to object.

The woman seemed shocked, unable to believe she might have an ally.

They started to run, each with a child in their arms, aiming for the warehouses and the tangle of narrow lanes adjacent to the harbour.

Their pursuers clattered off the bridge and sped after them.

Serrah felt strange being on dry land again.

She was glad to see the back of the ship, and getting off it had proved easier than she feared. Looking around the harbour, she wondered what to do now. She knew no one in Bhealfa.